


The Fan-Fic Writer in Chief

by nikkilittle



Category: Alice in Wonderland (1951)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 12:05:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15706890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikkilittle/pseuds/nikkilittle
Summary: The top vote-getter in the 2016 U.S. presidential elections is the write-in candidate "Alice of Wonderland." So what happens when a fictional character wins an election?





	The Fan-Fic Writer in Chief

Title: The Fan-Fic Writer in Chief  
Category: Movies » Alice in Wonderland  
Author: nikkilittle  
Language: English, Rating: Rated: T  
Genre: General  
Published: 12-11-15, Updated: 02-14-16  
Chapters: 16, Words: 9,248  
Chapter 1: Chapter 1  
"The Fan-Fic Writer in Chief"

by Nikki Little

The U.S. presidential election in 2016 was one of those affairs when lots of people looked at what the two major parties had barfed up and did a little barfing of their own in the voting booth. They wrote in ridiculous candidates. Nobody ever considered what to do if one of the ridiculous candidates won. I guess it all happened because of that shitty Disney movie. Yeah, that second Alice in Wonderland movie that Tim Burton made. Lots of people must have been thinking of that movie in the voting booth. Lots of them wrote in "Alice of Wonderland." Lots and lots and lots of them. "Alice of Wonderland" won the election.

The electoral officials were in a quandary. They had to determine "the intent of the voters" when they cast such a vote. In the end, I think, they were just desperate. I can imagine what they must have said to each other.

"What about that crazy fanfiction writer who thinks she's Alice of Wonderland? That one who turned Alice of Wonderland into a modern-day revolutionary?"

"Pfft! Why not? She'll do. Can't be any crazier than Trump. He'd wreck the country before his term was up. A crazy fanfiction writer might spend her entire term scribbling useless twaddle that nobody reads. A do-nothing president would be infinitely better than Adolf Trump or Napleon Clinton! Let's have the NSA grab her!"

"Agreed! Done deal!"

So they grabbed me. Right in the middle of the night. Kicked in my front door, surprised me in bed, rammed a black bag down over my head, and carried me out to a waiting fake ambulance. Sirens on and off we went to Wonderland.

End of Chapter 1

Chapter 2: Chapter 2  
Chapter 2: "The Reading of the Riot Act"

End of the ambulance ride. Frog-marched into another vehicle. Still blindfolded. Ride down what feels like an interstate from the smoothness of the road. Frog-marched into another vehicle. Was wondering if I was going to get my head chopped off in a federal "black site." After a day of riding and one transfer after another, I was frog-marched into a building, down long hallways, and into a room. The door slam sounded ominous. Off with the black hood.

Hail! Hail! The gang's all here! The traditional reading of the riot act to new presidents. Where their heads are threatened and they're warned that the U.S. government has Argentines standing by to shove presidential family members out of helicopters over the Atlantic Ocean. Lovely bunch these national security types.

There they were. Smug assholes. Old white males. The Elite power hierarchy. The generals from the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the head of the Central Intelligence Agency, the head of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the head of Homeland Security, the head of the National Security Agency, the head of the Office of Intelligence and Counterintelligence, the head of Coast Guard Intelligence, the head of Homeland Security Investigations, the head of the Office of Terrorism and Financial Intelligence, the head of the Defense Intelligence Agency, the head of the Central Security Service, the head of the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency, the head of Marine Corps Intelligence Activity, the head of the Office of Naval Intelligence, the head of the Drug Enforcement Administration, the Chief Executive Officers of Lockheed-Martin, Boeing, Northropp-Grumann, General Dynamics, Raytheon, United Technologies, Computer Sciences Corporation, Honeywell, General Electric, Pratt and Whitney, Hewlett-Packard, DynCorp International, and, of course, General Motors, Ford, Chrysler, Apple, and Microsoft. No Bill Gates, though. He was off trying to save the world from malaria. Any excuse to skip the meeting. Maybe "Ruthless Bill" wasn't all bad. That Apple guy sure looked smug.

"Do you understand what the job of U.S. President is?"

"To serve the people?" I tried to keep a straight face. I tried really hard.

"No!" shouted one of the generals from the Joint Chiefs of Staff. "Your job as President is to play a role. To give the illusion to the poor deluded masses that civilians actually run this country."

"They don't?" I asked. I was using my best innocent face.

"Don't play games with us!" shouted the general. "We've all read everything you've ever posted on the internet. We know what a cynic you are! Do you hear me? We've read everything!"

"Even the p*o*r*n*o?" I asked.

The general looked down. I looked around and everyone avoided my gaze.

"Well, whaddya know?" I gloated. "I didn't think anybody read those!"

"So it's all agreed!" said the general. "Off to the White House with you!"

"I ain't doin' shit without my cat!" I interjected. The general glared at me.

"Oh, bullshit!" said the general. "We just had to get a fan-fic writer who thinks she's Katniss Everdeen!"

End of Chapter 2

Chapter 3: Chapter 3  
Chapter 3: "From the Shadows"

Hidden in a shadow in the corner of the room spoke a man that I hadn't noticed.

"I anticipated that this would happen."

He walked slowly and deliberately into the light and handed me a cage holding my beloved red tabby "Cheshire." I opened the cage and let my cat out. He followed me everywhere, so there was no need to worry about losing him.

I wondered who the mysterious stranger was, and when I walked up to him to thank him for my cat, I saw his nametag. Oh, dear.

There he was before me: the Dark Lord of American capitalism. CEO of evil. Head of the most monstrous corporation on Earth. The Boss of Monsanto. Holy fuck. I backed away as he softly chuckled.

Then the rest of the evil crowd in the room began to chuckle, too. The evil chorus of snickers reminded me of being bullied in my junior high school cafeteria. But I had an ally! Cheshire hopped up on top of the table, did his best dog-lifting-leg imitation, and shot the CEO of Monsanto right in the crotch. Cheshire always knows who to hit first. The Dark Lord sputtered and announced to everyone that he would kill the cat, but Cheshire had done his usual and had seemingly vanished into thin air.

While everyone else stared in dead silence at the wet spot on the Dark Lord's crotch, I began to giggle. Soon I just could not help myself and broke out into a long, loud laugh.

End of Chapter 3

Chapter 4: Chapter 4  
Chapter 4: "First Presidential Address"

"Cameras ready?" I asked.

"You're ready to go. Nod, and we'll start shooting."

"Good evening everyone. I didn't run for this job and never asked for it, but a bunch of you loons wrote in Alice of Wonderland and here I am. The goons who grabbed me went after the Alice at Disneyland in Orlando, Florida first, but she led them on a merry chase through the park, ran down a hidden escape under the Teacups ride, and vanished into a mirror. It seems the real Alice of Wonderland escaped, so you get me. An Alice in Wonderland fanfic writer. You may barf now."

"Since I don't want this job and only desire to go home, I have no fear of being impeached. I am free to be as stupid as I wanna be. So here is my first presidential act. Y'all may be wanting to sit down for this. You'll either be ecstatic or thinking of assassination. Rest assured there is no need to assassinate me. I am ready to quit and go home on a moment's notice. Anything to get the fuck out of this chair as no sane person would want this job. Here we go."

"All you potheads in jail are pardoned. If you are in jail for dealing marijuana, you are pardoned. If you are in jail for growing marijuana, you are pardoned. If you are in jail for using marijuana, you are pardoned. If you are in jail because you had a few stray plants growing on your property, you are pardoned. If you are in jail for anything related to marijuana, you are pardoned. All you potheads are pardoned. I will send legislation to Congress to remove marijuana from all drug enforcement laws so that it becomes just another plant. If Congress refuses, I will pardon everyone arrested for anything related to marijuana each and every day at five o'clock until Congress gives in. That includes Saturdays and Sundays. Have a nice day, Tea Party."

Then I let loose with a long, loud horse laugh.

End of Chapter 4

Chapter 5: Chapter 5  
Chapter 5: "Life Insurance"

"Madame President?"

"Yes?"

"You still need to pick a vice president."

The Republicans are screaming bloody murder about the mass pardon of potheads and talking about impeachment. Congress won't cooperate and I've been issuing pardons every day at five o'clock. The blogosphere is full of demands for my assassination. Who can I pick for vice president that will discourage people from shooting me? An atheist? That fat blond dude on YouTube maybe? The Amazing Atheist? He's scary enough. But he's no crazier than me as far as most people are concerned. Not scary enough.

Somebody who's gay? What celebrities do I know to be gay? Ellen DeGeneres. That's it. I can't think of anybody else. Not scary enough. Oh, wait! Rosie O'Donnell! She's gay, isn't she? Still not scary enough. Still might get shot. Need somebody who terrifies Republicans. Got it. I called for my chief of staff.

"Can you track down Angela Davis for me?" I started to giggle. Couldn't help it.

End of Chapter 5

Chapter 6: Chapter 6  
Chapter 6: "The Debt Ceiling"

"Madame President, the Republicans are refusing to raise the debt ceiling unless you sign a complete repeal of Obamacare."

"Obamacare sucks, it's a band-aid on a gaping wound. Still better than nothing. I'm not going to take Medicaid away from possibly as many as six million people. If I did, that would make me a mass murderer. Some people definitely would die as a result of losing Medicaid."

"Madame President, are you suggesting that Republican-governed states that refused to expand Medicaid are murdering their citizens?"

I looked at my Chief of Staff. I looked him right in the eye.

"What do you think?"

"Accusing the Republicans of mass murder is going a bit far, don't you think?"

"You're fired."

I replaced my Chief of Staff with a homeless Iraq war veteran. I wanted somebody with street smarts. Now what to do about those dastardly hostage-taking Republicans. Two could play the blackmail game, I thought. I called for my new Chief of Staff whom I had nicknamed "Shaggy" because he reminded me of the guy from Scooby Doo who was always eating.

"Hey, Shaggy! I need you to arrange a news address for me at five o'clock today. Get as many networks as you can." Shaggy was wolfing down a hot dog he'd gotten from the hot dog stand that I had ordered set up in the White House lobby. Ben's Chili Dogs. I can't eat those things because of the sodium content, but I ain't no dummy.

Shaggy did a good job on such short notice. Most of the big names were there. I started my address.

"Good evening. I want to talk to you this evening because the Republicans are holding the debt ceiling hostage again. Either I sign a complete repeal of Obamacare and take Medicaid away from as many as six million people, or the Republicans will put the federal government into default. I am not going to take Medicaid away from possibly six million people. That would be mass murder. We are in a state of fiscal crisis. Therefore I have decided that we can no longer afford our overseas military bases. For every hour that the Republicans refuse to raise the debt ceiling, I will close one overseas military base and order everyone from that base to return to the United States. I will also order that the land for the base be sold if we own it. I'll start with the military bases on Okinawa in Japan. Those bases have long been a sore point with the locals. I've already ordered them closed. I've also ordered closed all of our military bases in the northern half of South Korea. It's a done deal. I will continue ordering closed one new military base every hour until the Republicans do a clean raise of the debt ceiling. Have a nice day, Tea Partiers."

"Oh, one last thing. All you potheads who got arrested for marijuana offenses today? You are all pardoned."

End of Chapter 6

Chapter 7: Chapter 7  
Chapter 7: "Don't Drone Me, Bro!"

Shaggy came in with bad news.

"We droned another wedding party."

I faceplanted. "Which country?"

"Pakistan."

"God help us! One of these days they'll get pissed off enough to nuke us. We would blow up a wedding party in the only Islamic country to possess a nuclear weapon."

"You could stop it, you know. You are the commander-in-chief, right? Can't the commander-in-chief order an end to drone attacks?"

"You mean I don't have to get a mission termination through Congress?"

"That's right!"

I grabbed Shaggy and took him down to the lobby. To the hot dog stand. Ben's Chili Dogs. "Give him all the hot dogs he can eat." I handed the employee a fifty-dollar bill. That ought to buy enough hot dogs to stuff even Shaggy. I hurried back to my office to make a phone call. Bye-bye drone program. The Pentagon gave me no hassle at all. The general on the other end of the line seemed, if anything, rather relieved.

"Can you set up another address, Shaggy? How many days do you need?"

The delay gave me a bit of time to think.

"Good evening, everyone. Still haven't been impeached or assassinated. I'd like to talk to you about drone attacks in the Muslim world. We just blew up another wedding party in Pakistan, and, I'm sure, created a whole new slew of angry, revenge-obsessed terrorists. Instead of the usual empty apology of mouthing the words 'our hearts go out to yada yada yada' and blowing up another wedding party in two months, I'm going to try something completely different. Our drone attacks have nailed a few terrorists in the Muslim world, but we've killed so many civilians that we're probably creating more terrorists than we kill. So no more drone attacks anywhere in the world. Yes, that's right. If you're a Muslim kid, you no longer have to be afraid of blue sky. We're not going to do it anymore. Moreso, I am ordering closed all U.S. military bases in Saudi Arabia. Our bases there are a sore point with locals, and I don't see the point of having military bases in the Middle East to guard oil that we dare not burn anyway due to the increasing effect of global climate change. So our soldiers in the Middle East will be coming home. First from Saudi Arabia, and eventually from the entire Muslim World. Uncle Sam is coming home. No more world policeman. No more CIA meddling in the Middle East. No more support for dictators. No more phony color revolutions anywhere. We are done with that. Have a nice day, everyone."

"Oh, one last thing. All you potheads who got arrested today for marijuana offenses are all pardoned."

End of Chapter 7

Chapter 8: Chapter 8  
Chapter 8: "Hostage-Taking 101"

I had just completed my one task for every day after my morning national security briefing: read and veto a Republican bill to dismantle Obamacare. So what else was there to do for the rest of the day? I was snoozing away on my antique French baroque sofa when Shaggy knocked on the door.

"Enter!" I shouted from the sofa. Shaggy marched in.

"The Republicans are pissed about you closing military bases in the Middle East. They want you to reverse your decision."

"Just like that? Just because they want me to? Fuck 'em!" I rolled back over to snooze on my French baroque sofa.

"Paul Ryan, Speaker of the House of Representatives, will be here to discuss the matter with you in about 15 minutes."

I rolled over again to face Shaggy. "I don't recall inviting Representative Ayn Rand to come talk to me."

"He got no invitation. He's just showing up."

"Well show him the door. Fuck him. I've got better things to do." I rolled over, scratched my ass, and resumed the snooze position. I never did learn how to be lady-like.

"He's on his way. I've informed him that he needed to seek an invitation. He doesn't care."

"He's going to just barge in?"

"Yup. Couldn't be troubled to ask. Too important to bother. Yup." Shaggy did his best Mitch McConnell imitation.

I dashed into a closet where I kept my Halloween costumes for special diplomatic occasions. Wicked Witch of the West. Perfect. I quickly pulled the costume over my head and donned the mask and hat. Shaggy sat down in the hallway to watch for Speaker Ryan.

"He's here!" announced Shaggy. Ryan walked in.

"Oh, sorry, Hillary! I was looking for the President!"

"That's me, you fool. Can't tell me from Hillary Clinton?"

"Apparently not."

"What do you want, interloper? I'm busy!"

"It is unacceptable for national security to shut down U.S. military bases in the Middle East."

"The decision has already been made and is being implemented right now. It's a bit late to kick up a fuss."

"It is unacceptable for national security to shut down U.S. military bases in the Middle East." Ryan repeated himself. I pressed a button to call for White House security.

"Get out!"

"We can discuss this."

"Get out!" What was taking security so long to get here?

"We can negotiate."

"Oh, you want to bargain. It would have to be something really good for me to reverse myself almost immediately and look like a fool."

"What do you want?" asked Ryan. He seemed to be almost pleading.

"Socialized national health care system like Canada."

"Not happening. Suggest something else."

"Comprehensive publicly-owned subway systems in every city of more than 500,000 and comprehensive publicly-owned bus systems in every city of more than 50,000."

"Not happening. Suggest something else." Security had arrived.

"A universal right to housing in the United States. A sort of minimum housing benefit for citizens."

"Not happening. Name something else." I nodded to security.

"Get him out of here."

"Universal minimum income benefit to replace all the bureaucratic welfare programs!" shouted Ryan as security grabbed him. I waved security off.

"I'm listening. What do you propose?"

"A universal minimum income benefit equal to a typical food stamp benefit for everyone. No qualification necessary."

"You propose to replace all anti-poverty programs with a cash benefit equal to the food stamp benefit? Surely you're joking! The poor would be much worse off than now!" I nodded to security to grab Ryan again.

"Name your minimum benefit!" shouted Ryan as security started pulling him toward the door. I nodded to security to stop.

"A guaranteed minimum income benefit for all citizens equal to the minimum social security benefit," I announced.

"You can't take national security hostage!" blustered Ryan.

"You Republicans assfucked Obama with the debt ceiling and routine funding bills for six straight years. Don't talk to me about hostage-taking." I nodded to security.

"Get him out of here! The Wicked Witch is weary of Republicans!" I stuck my costume nose in the air, scratched my ass, and flumped down on my French baroque sofa to continue my nap. As George W. Bush might say, being President is a lot of hard work.

End of Chapter 8

Chapter 9: Chapter 9  
Chapter 9: "Breaking News"

I had just completed my one task for every day after my morning national security briefing: read and veto a Republican bill to dismantle Obamacare. So what else was there to do for the rest of the day? I was snoozing away on my antique French baroque sofa when Shaggy knocked on the door.

"Enter!" I shouted from the sofa. Shaggy marched in.

"A video of your encounter with Speaker Ryan has shown up on social media and Fox News has gotten wind of it. Several Fox News commentators have called you a raving lunatic communist who wants to redistribute wealth and destroy the economy."

"Aren't these the same people who called Obama a socialist?" I asked.

"I'm pretty sure they are."

"They're blithering idiots. Richard Nixon was more of a socialist than Obama. He wanted national health insurance for everybody back in 1971 and 1974."

"There are videos of the Fox commentators ranting and raving on YouTube. Why don't you have a look?"

I made the mistake of watching the Fox Business News commentator.

"Look at that vein in his forehead throb! He looks like he's about ready to have a stroke! Look at him waving his arms around like he's trying to flag down a taxi in New York City!"

"If you think that's bad, have a look at this blond bimbo ranting and raving about you being a communist."

What the hell, I clicked on the video of the Fox blond bimbo. She was very active onscreen.

"Did I just see a boob pop out? Oh, there'll be stills of that all over FaceBook!"

Shaggy was dancing around and jumping up and down like a homeless man with ants in his underwear.

"Wardrobe malfunction! Wardrobe malfunction! Wardrobe malfunction!" he chanted.

"Celebration over!" I shouted at Shaggy. "I need you to get some props for me. We're going to have a special response to Fox." I gave Shaggy a list I quickly scribbled. He made a face and saluted in the style of Max Klinger.

"Okay, boss! If this is what you want..."

The next day we were all set up at noon. Props erected in background and on top of my desk. Impersonator at ready. The Beatles playing in the background. Yup, we were ready. Roll cameras. I cued the disk jockey for the next Beatles song. "Back in the USSR" began to play.

"Good evening, fellow Americans," I said in my best smarmy Obama-style. "It has come to my attention that Fox News has been claiming that I am a Communist. Nothing could be further from the truth." The camera drew back to reveal the enormous gold hammer and sickle on a red cloth backdrop draped on the wall behind me.

"This administration has pursued a consistently realist public policy line. We're broke from all the wars, and the Republicans refuse to raise taxes to pay for anything." The camera zeroed in on the bottle of "Red Moscow" perfume sitting on the Oval Office desk.

"I pretty much can't do anything about domestic policy with the Republicans controlling the House of Representatives thanks to all their gerrymandered district maps in Republican-governed states. So I sleep all day. What the fuck else have I got to do?" The Putin-lookalike popped his head above the desk and fondled what little boobage I had. I slapped his hand and whispered just loud enough for the microphones to pick it up.

"Behave yourself or no booty for Pootie!" Cheshire hopped up on top of the desk and I began stroking his back compulsively. Cheshire looked straight at the camera and purred loudly. He knows how to put on a show.

"Even if I were a Communist, I can't do anything. Except bring the troops home from all the wars." I gave the camera my widest possible grin, and Cheshire faced the camera with an even bigger grin. The camera honed in on the portrait of East German dictator Erich Honecker on the wall next to the portrait of Washington.

"So in conclusion, the Fox hosts are all full of what comes out your backside after a meal at Taco Bell." I gave the signal for the cameras to fade to black, but of course, as per my instructions, the cameras did not fade to black.

"We're done!" I announced to no one in particular. The Putin imitator crawled out from under the desk and reset the CD player to repeat the Beatles' "Back in the USSR." As we jitterbugged to the Beatles, the Putin imitator suddenly looked straight at the cameras and put his fingertips to his open mouth. Pinky sticking straight up to the ceiling. Damn, he's good. I walked up to the cameras and looked straight into the lenses.

"Hey, are these cameras still running?"

End of Chapter 9

Chapter 10: Chapter 10  
Chapter 10: "Groundhog Day"

I had just completed my one task for every day after my morning national security briefing: read and veto a Republican bill to dismantle Obamacare. So what else was there to do for the rest of the day? I was snoozing away on my antique French baroque sofa when Shaggy knocked on the door.

"Enter!" I shouted from the sofa. Shaggy marched in. Hadn't I been here before? Come to think of it, the entire last week had begun exactly the same way. This day was to be different.

"You have a foreign policy crisis to deal with. The Saudis just chopped the head off a Shiite cleric."

"Was he a terrorist?"

"No."

"Did he advocate terrorism?"

"No."

"Then what did he do?"

"He was a pain in the ass."

"That's it?"

"Yup."

"Damn, the entire Republican Party would get their heads chopped off over there."

Shaggy looked at me strangely, and then smiled. He said nothing.

"I know it's not politically correct to say this, but I am getting tired of Muslims. Can you get me Putin on the phone? I have a proposal for him. There's one course of action with Muslims that no one ever seems to have tried."

"What's that?"

"Leave them alone."

Shaggy then reminded me that it was the middle of the night in Russia, and perhaps I should wait until late evening to contact him. I agreed that was wise, and just before going to bed, Shaggy had Putin on the phone. No translator.

"You want be seen with me in public? After crazy news conference?"

"I have a proposal for you on dealing with all the problems in the Middle East."

"Speak."

"The one course of action that no one has tried in dealing with Muslims is to leave them alone. Withdraw all military forces and stop all military aid to Muslim countries. Let them sort out their differences on their own. If we send anything, let it be food – not weapons, not soldiers, not bombs, not drones, and certainly not money."

"Interesting. Does that include Israel? I would consider it if you showed that you are serious."

" Yes, that includes Israel. I've already ordered the closing of some U.S. military bases in the Middle East. I'm thinking about closing all of them. Even the ones in Iraq and Afghanistan."

"You have death wish. You want Russian passport?"

"What?"

"Just in case. We put you in same apartment building as Snowden."

"I need to pardon him."

"You do have death wish. I arrange Russian passport for you. Pick up at Russian Embassy. Don't refuse. You never know when you will need it. You might want to have escape plan ready. Don't use the JFK tunnels. Everybody knows about those."

"JFK tunnels?"

"The tunnels John F. Kennedy used to sneak Marilyn Monroe into the White House."

"Oh, those tunnels."

"We can meet for discussion in Ottawa, Canada. I have trip planned there.

"Send me details at my official email address. I'll meet you there."

"Madame President?"

"Yes."

"We really should stop meeting like this. People will say we're in love."

End of Chapter 10

Chapter 11: Chapter 11  
Chapter 11: "Dances with Pootie"

So I went to Ottawa, Canada to meet with Pootie, the Canadian Prime Minister, and the German Prime Minister. Didn't we spy on her cellphone? Damn. "I'm fucked," I thought. I wondered what all those maniacs at the CIA and NSA were doing behind my back. Probably had a camera hooked up in my White House bedroom watching me play with my vibrator collection. Karaoke vibrator. "Sing it, Madame President!" Probably one of those videos on YouTube already. I wondered if they had seen me with my adult chocolates. Chomp!

Sure enough, Angela Merkel of Germany got right in my face. Demanded to know why I hadn't done anything to reign in the NSA and CIA. I looked her square in the face.

"You think I actually have any control over what those maniacs do? Are you ever naive! They probably watch me play with my vibrator collection in my bedroom! If I want to diddle myself in private, I have to pull the sheets over my head. Assuming they don't have RFID tags with video capability sown into the sheets!"

Merkel fainted.

We all looked at each other. Putin hopped up and got a glass of water. Splash! A moment later Merkel sat up. I wondered if the water helped or not. At least it got us all out of the possible necessity of giving mouth-to-mouth to Merkel.

Some flunky came up to me with a message.

"Important phone call for you from your Chief of Staff."

"What's up, Shaggy?"

"The Vice President is missing. Nobody can find her."

"Angela Davis is missing?"

"Yup. There goes your life insurance."

So that was that. It was already beginning. A coup. Didn't take long.

"Get my Secretary of Intelligence Gathering and inform him. Ask him to contact British Naval Intelligence and the Cuban State Security services to find out if they're aware of anybody being pushed out of a helicopter over the Atlantic Ocean today. Also ask the Cubans if a black woman arrived in Guantanamo today."

Putin addressed me. "Something wrong, Madame President?"

"My Vice President has disappeared."

"And you're asking foreign intelligence agencies for information?"

"If you were me, would you trust the CIA or the NSA to tell you the truth?"

Putin sighed, reached into his shirt pocket, and handed me a small brown envelope. I reached in and pulled the item out slightly. A Russian passport.

"I didn't think you'd need it so quickly," he said. "I will contact my friends in FSB." Putin walked away to a corner and made a call on his cell phone. He came back.

"Miss Davis is alive, but you're aren't going to be happy."

End of Chapter 11

Version 2

Chapter 12: Chapter 12  
Chapter 12: "Revenge is a Dish Best Served Black"

"So where is my Vice President?" I asked Pootie.

"In Havana, Cuba," responded Pootie.

I looked at Pootie.

"Again?! Damn. That woman loves Cuba!"

"She woke up with four government agents in her house. She didn't know whether they were CIA, some branch of military intelligence, or the FBI. She said they all looked like Agent Smith from the Matrix. One shoved a brand new passport, a one-way ticket to Cuba, and a Glock in her face. Told her she was going for a little ride. Straight to the airport. Miss Davis arrived in Havana with no visa in her passport which caused a bit of a ruckus. She told her story to Cuban intelligence and has already been granted asylum. They all assumed she'd end up dead if she returned to the U.S. My guess is she was allowed to live to send a message to you."

"And that message is don't come home, bitch!"

"Right. The House of Representatives has already voted to charge you with frivolous conduct unacceptable for a chief executive."

"After the people they ran in the primaries in 2016? Frivolous conduct? Me? The Mad Hatter is more serious than the Republican Party of 2016!"

"And the Senate is trying you right now."

"I'm still President for the moment."

"Maybe for the next hour."

I asked the Canadians to hurry and set up a news broadcast for me. I had Putin explain that time was of the essence. Show time!

"Good afternoon my fellow Americans. I'm about to get my freckled ass tossed out, but I'm still President for the next fifteen minutes or so at least. No time to waste. All you potheads who were arrested today for anything related to marijuana and only marijuana are all pardoned. Edward Snowden, Chelsea Manning, and Julian Assange are all pardoned for whatever the hell they did. Anyone in jail for stealing food for personal consumption is pardoned. I also appoint Christopher Julius Rock III my new Vice President. The Comedian. Swear him in Chief Justice!"

I fell down on the floor and began to laugh hysterically. Revenge is a dish best served black.

End of Chapter 12

Chapter 13: Chapter 13  
Chapter 13: "America is a Big-Titty Woman"

So there they were. No president. No vice president. The Republicans were gleefully rubbing their paws together as they contemplated controlling all three branches of government. President Paul Ryan, former Speaker of the House. The Speaker is next in line after the vice president. Oh, how the Republicans loved the ring of "President Paul Ryan!" Oh, the places they would go! Repeal Obamacare. Snatch away expanded Medicaid. Privatize Social Security. Turn Medicare into a voucher system. Eliminate the Federal Minimum Wage. Oh happy day! Holidays in Hell were here again!

Turned out that appointing a new vice president was not as simple as just naming him. The nominee would have to be approved by simple majorities in both the House and Senate. Turns out everyone in Washington had a sense of humor. No one informed Congress of my new nominee for vice president until after they had impeached me. A black dude that every poor person in America loves? Oh, fuck! So there they were with their undies all down. Vote in the new black dude or...

They came. Holy fuckin' hell they came. Every dirt-poor bro and ho from the ghettos started pouring into Washington. Too poor for lodging, they sent up tents everywhere. Fuckin' and shittin' and pissin' everywhere. Congress did a little shittin' and pissin' themselves. Right in their undies. Pass the Depends! Look at all those black folk! Dirt-poor and pissed. Pissed off as hell. This time they had hopes of a real black president. Not some Trojan Horse Republican Lite sell-out Corporate whore pretendin' to be their best buddy for life. No more phonies. They wanted the real thing!

"We want Chris!" they chanted, over and over again. Signs everywhere. Even southern white crackers holdin' up signs "I'm Wid The Niger." Congress shat their panties. And swore in Christopher Julius Rock III as the new president. This new guy wouldn't be so easy to get rid of. Sending a bunch of Agent Smiths to dump him in Cuba like Miss Davis was out of the question. Especially considering how many of those angry black people in the streets were wandering around with enormous heavy pinking shears. No doubt about what those shears were for.

Nothing prepared the Republicans for the new president's inaugural address.

"Good evening, my fellow Americans! How the fuck I ended up here is unbelievable, but who would have guessed that we just had some old hippie flower girl from the 1970s as President for 47 days. She lasted 47 days. Damn! I didn't think she'd last that long! Best president black America has had since Franklin Roosevelt. How many of you all just got out of prison thanks to her pardons? Would have been a lot more if the southern states weren't challenging those pardons in federal court. You know which states. The states that refused to expand Medicaid. The states that refuse to do shit for their residents. Well, anyway, I'm amazed to be here."

"You all know America is a rich nation. Maybe not as rich as it was before the one-percenters moved all the manufacturing and computer programming abroad, but still a rich nation. America is a beautiful woman. America is a beautiful big-titty woman. Everybody loves a big-titty woman! Especially bankers. Them bankers been suckin' Miss America's titties dry since 2008. They left fuck-all for the rest of us. Well no more for the bankster class. I am yankin' away the titties! If you're a banker, no more titty for you! A big-titty woman can feed an entire village with her assets. Well now Miss American is goin' to start takin' care of the rest of us! Titty for everybody! Not just the one-percenters!"

The Parliamentarian ran out of Depends diapers in Congress.

End of Chapter 13

Chapter 14: Chapter 14  
Chapter 14: "Through the Looking Glass"

The conference in Canada was scheduled to last two weeks, and the other heads of state allowed me to hang around and eat at scheduled meals with them. I sensed genuine sorrow among them that I had been tossed out on my can in such an imperious fashion. I also sensed worry among them what the kidnapping of my vice-president actually meant. It was painfully obvious that no one was going to be arrested for that. The American security agencies were above the law and did whatever they pleased.

Putin often joined me in the lounge to watch events in the U.S. unfold on the TV and expressed the opinion that we might be watching the birth of history's next great revolution. I had an answer to that.

"As long as they keep their attention focused on the government, there will be no revolution. There might be changes of personnel, but no change in the system. If people start throwing molotov cocktails into the lobbies of banks and burning them to the ground, now that would mark the beginning of a revolution."

Putin did not reply to that and seemed lost in thought. I could almost see the gears turning in his mind.

At the end of the conference, I brought Cheshire with me and announced where I was going next. The Canadians had offered asylum as well and had also offered a passport. I had two options, it seemed, at that point: Canada or Russia. I chose a third option. I turned to my cat.

"Cheshire, I think it is time that I avail myself of our previously arranged first wish. My two suitcases in my White House bedroom that I always kept packed for a quick departure, if you please."

Cheshire held up a front paw with one claw extended to signify the first wish. He flicked his tail creating a swirling cloud of smoke and jumped through. Two packed suitcases thumped on the floor in front of the swirling cloud. Cheshire jumped through a moment later and flashed his trademark grin at the stupefied audience. I had three more wishes. Cheshire was more generous than most of his type.

"Cheshire, my second wish is to go to that mirror that the Alice in Disneyland in Orlando, Florida passed through. I want to go whereever it was that she went."

Cheshire flashed another grin and flicked his tail creating a larger swirling cloud of smoke that looked much like a door. He sat by the "door" waiting for me to step through.

I walked over to a table and got two clean glasses and an opened bottle of French red wine. I poured both glasses to the two-thirds mark and handed one to Putin.

"To the Soviet Union of the 1970s," I said. "Who would have ever guessed that it was a freer country then than the United States of the Obama era, which spies on everyone all the time and maintains a massive database of all communications of every single citizen. The Soviet Union of the 1970s was also far more egalitarian. Luxuries may have been few, but everyone had the necessities."

Putin raised his glass and clinked mine. He had caught hell when he claimed that the collapse of the Soviet Union was one of the greatest political catastrophes of the twentieth century. He had been right of course. The collapse of the only alternative economic system in the world took the pressure off capitalism to share at least some of its riches. Capitalism had since run amuck, and now the world was divided between rich and poor to the greatest extreme since the 1920s.

"To Soviet Union," said Putin. "It wasn't perfect, but after the death of Stalin, it always had potential to become something better." Putin downed his glass, and then I downed mine. The Canadian Prime Minister Trudeau and the German Prime Minister Merkel watched quietly. I waved good-bye, picked up Cheshire and plopped him on my shoulder, picked up my two suitcases, and stepped through Cheshire's smoke cloud. It would be the beginning of a new adventure.

End of Chapter 14

Chapter 15: Chapter 15  
Chapter 15: "Be Sure to Wear Some Flowers in Your Hair"

Cheshire and I arrived in a dimly-lit nearly circular room with sparse furnishings. There was an ornate, wood-framed, antique full-length mirror embedded in the center of a bookcase with four shelves on each side. I set down my two suitcases on both sides of the mirror. The shelves were full of old, antique-looking hardbacks. Mostly old classics. There was a rectangular wood table with eight chairs around it: three chairs on each side and one chair at each end. The table appeared clean and had eight placemats on it. Nothing else was on the table. There was a wood liquor cabinet with the doors standing open near the table. It was well-stocked with unopened bottles of mostly wine. There was a bartender's station with three sinks near the liquor cabinet. It was clean. Clean glassware hung upside-down from overhead. Office lights appeared high on the wall in a ring around the room. There were eight of them, and they gave off just enough light to read the labels on the wine bottles.

"Cheshire, you can talk now," I said. "There are no people around."

Cheshire looked up at the ceiling. I looked at where he was staring and noticed the closed circuit TV cameras. There was probably a park security guard watching us at that very moment. I picked up Cheshire's vibe of urgency.

Cheshire dashed up to the mirror, motioned his intent to pass through and return, and then jumped through. Circular ripples radiated outwards as if a pebble had been thrown into a still, limpid pool. Cheshire returned and I saw more ripples in the mirror. I dashed to the sides of the bookcase with the mirror. It was bolted to the wall with no space behind it. On the right side scratched in the wood was a name. Alice Liddell.

I heard loud, thumping footsteps in the stairwell. Cheshire shot me a look of extreme distress and leaped through the mirror. I dashed around, grabbed my two suitcases, and stepped through the mirror while hearing a shout of "Halt!" behind me.

I stepped out into an open woodland with two columns of card guards on both sides of me. The card guards motioned for me to keep moving and quickly formed two ranks in front of the antique mirror that was embedded in a tree. Cheshire had an explanation.

"The card guards are here to make certain that the goons who came thumping down the stairway don't come through the mirror. They are obviously unwelcome here."

"Good to hear you talk again, Cat. It's been awhile."

"Look ahead at that sign. This is definitely your kind of place."

A large wooden sign ahead had the "Four Laws of Wonderland" carved into it.

1\. Share What You Have

2\. Take What You Need

3\. Contribute to the Community

4\. Be Kind

"That certainly is a lot more straightforward than the laws of the United States," I said. "There are so many laws in the United States that no one even knows how many there are."

"Look up ahead," said Cheshire. "Is that a man sitting on that wall?"

He kind of looked like an egg in a suit and tie. He was dozing away on top of a rock wall against a tree growing just behind the wall. I walked up to him and recognized him instantly because of the jagged port wine stain on his nearly bald head. Mikhail Gorbachev. I could not help myself. I didn't intend to be rude.

"Mikhail Gorbachev! What are you doing here?"

Gorbachev roused himself from his semi-slumber and looked at me. "I've asked myself that question many times."

"How did you get here?"

"I was asleep in my bedroom. I heard a noise and saw a woman in royal robes accompanied by what looked like four living playing cards. She told me that Wonderland needed a new Humpty-Dumpty because the old one had just died. She said that I was perfect for the job. And here I am. I have to say that I get treated better here than I ever got treated in the world above."

"You mention the world above. Are we underground?"

"Wonderland is a giant cavern. Beyond giant. We are deep underground. What you perceive as sky overhead is actually a carpet of phosphorescent flowers on the roof of the cave. The flowers seem to have their own circadian rhythm. They glow during what we would perceive as daytime, and dim during what we perceive as night. They never go completely dark. Thus Wonderland never goes completely black."

"Would there be anyplace for me to stay? I'd like to at least relieve myself of my two suitcases."

"The Mad Hatter's castle is up ahead on this footpath. You can't miss his castle. He puts up anyone who is passing through. He has plenty of space, and is a most generous host. Some of his houseguests never seem to leave."

"I have a limited supply of money. Do you know how much to stay overnight?"

Gorbachev, er, Humpty-Dumpty, looked at me with a mixture of pity and amusement. "You do not have to worry about paying for things now. You're in Wonderland. There is no money here. No currency. No prices. Didn't you see the sign with the Four Laws of Wonderland when you arrived?"

"I did, but it never occurred to me that there would be no money."

"My dear, you are free of that now. You're in Wonderland. Wonderland is an anarchist commune. We have Kings and Queens here, but none of them rules Wonderland. The Kings and Queens of Wonderland rule only their own castles, no more. Hatter's castle is just down the path. He'll be overjoyed to have new visitors. He gets bored sometimes."

Humpty-Dumpty leaned back against the tree growing just behind his wall and resumed his quasi-slumber. I headed down the path toward Hatter's castle with Cheshire trotting ahead of me.

Just in front of Hatter's castle, we encountered the real Cheshire Cat.

"Only a few find the way to Wonderland. Some don't recognize it when they do. Most don't even want to admit that Wonderland exists."

The real Cheshire faded into thin air, leaving only his grin for a moment. My Cheshire and I continued down the path and were about to knock on the door when we heard what sounded like a party around the side. There he was holding court at a tea party. The Mad Hatter. He looked just like I expected.

"Come, my dear! Join us! You're just in time for tea!" He had two guests with him. One was a man who looked like a mouse. For a moment I thought he was Scott Walker, governor of Wisconsin. The other was unmistakable. Jesse Ventura, former governor of Minnesota, and once a professional wrestler.

"I'm the Mad March Hare!" exclaimed Ventura. "Hot or iced?" he asked.

"Iced," I said. "When did you get here?"

Ventura looked around. "I don't remember exactly when I arrived. I don't even know how I arrived. One morning I woke up here in Hatter's castle. Hatter told me the old March Hare had died and Wonderland needed a new one. Hatter told me I was perfect for the job."

"You certainly seem happy to be here."

"I am ecstatic to get away from all that shit going on up there! I don't know how Americans can stand it! Any other country in the world with such extreme inequality, so much destitution, and so many people in prison would have had a Communist revolution by now. Poor, white working-class Americans flock to the social-darwinist Tea Party!" Ventura face-planted onto the table. His head popped up a moment later and he reached for the pitcher of iced tea.

"Here's your iced tea. Drink it slowly. That ain't mint for garnish!"

I looked at the garnish for the iced tea swimming around in my glass. It suddenly dawned on me why it was known as a "mad tea party." The other guest was face-down in a plate of cookies and snoring away.

"He has narcolepsy," explained Ventura. "Don't worry. He can't drown in a plate of cookies."

I turned to Hatter. "Do you have any rooms I can stay in? I'd like to relieve myself of these suitcases."

Hatter chuckled. "I have many rooms available. Our March Hare can take you up. Do you intend to lock your door?"

"What?"

"Do you intend to lock your door?"

"Of course, doesn't everybody?"

"Most people in Wonderland don't bother to lock anything. Since everybody shares everything, there isn't really a need for locks."

I looked at Hatter. "I'm a woman. I still have a reason to lock the door."

"The last rape in Wonderland was in 1902 in the Queen of Hearts' castle. She had his head. It's now in the African Arts display case in her library. She had it shrunken. She said she keeps it on display as a reminder of what Wonderland does with rapists."

"I still want the key."

"As you wish. The March Hare will have to get the key from my study. All the room keys are in my study. I do keep my study locked. It's the only room in my castle that's locked. It's where I go to read. The walls are soundproof. Nice and quiet. Sometimes I just don't want to be disturbed."

Hatter handed the March Hare, Ventura, the key to his study. I wondered if Hatter had a spare key to his study, or had only one. I'd hate to use a room for which only one key existed. Ventura picked up my suitcases like they were weightless and led me inside the castle. We stopped in front of Hatter's study and Ventura put my suitcases down. He opened the door and led me inside.

Hatter's "study" was a huge library with tables and chairs everywhere. Dark wood paneling and what appeared to be gaslights in recesses in the walls. There were many chairs up against the walls with a recessed gaslight in the wall just above the chair. Most chairs were flanked on both sides by an end table. Every end table had a large supply of paper, pens, and pencils inside its drawer. Ventura walked up to a case recessed in the wall just to the right of the entrance and pulled out a room key for me. There were three keys for every room.

We exited Hatter's study, and Ventura carried my suitcases up to my room. He deposited my suitcases in the room and suggested that I unpack later. A clock on my nightstand had an electric cord plugged into a wall socket. Wonderland had electricity!

"You'll probably be here only temporarily. Most new arrivals end up living in the White King's castle. He always needs help with his gardens. His gardens are huge and feed most of Wonderland. Wonderland's water supply also comes from the White King's castle. It's on the highest spot in Wonderland, and the water is so pure it doesn't need treatment. Copper pipes carry the water down through the rest of Wonderland via gravity. No pumps needed. The waste lines don't need pumps, either. The wastewater treatment plant is located at the lowest end of Wonderland. The treated wastewater goes into an underground river. We're not pigs who would dump untreated waste directly into a river. We have high standards here."

I looked around in my room and was startled to see that I had a classic porcelain flush toilet. There was a warning on the wall in ten languages. "Don't flush toilet paper." Ventura noticed me looking at it.

"Water pressure is entirely from gravity and is rather weak. No pumps. If you try to flush toilet paper, the toilet will clog. Toilet paper goes in that trash basket. Yes, I know. Gross. The basket has a tight-fitting lid which minimizes odor."

"Just like in Peace Corps service," I said.

"You could go down to visit the White King. The White King is in charge of giving everyone their Wonderland name. He knows an awful lot about everyone who arrives here. No one knows where he gets all his information. I think he's got an internet-connected computer in that castle somewhere. If he does, it's the only computer in Wonderland!"

"Everyone gets a Wonderland-specific name?"

"Yup! I'm the Mad March Hare!" chuckled Ventura. "I'll get a water bowl, a litter box, a scoop, and a bag of sand for your cat while you're gone. Wouldn't want him thirsty and dancing, now, would we?"

Ventura led me out the front door of Hatter's castle to the crossroads in the paths. One sign pointed the way I had come which was labeled "Looking Glass Arrival Tree." Another sign pointed to "Chesslands." A third sign pointed to "Gnome Village."

"Go down the Chesslands path. When you come to the fork, take the White Chessland path. That will take you to the White King's castle. Don't worry. There are no hostilities going on between the White and Red Chesslands. Everything is peaceful. When the day comes for you to move into the White King's castle, he'll send a horse-drawn carriage for you here. You won't have to walk or carry your suitcases. You'll travel to the White King's castle in style."

I had a drink of water and some cookies, and then headed down the path to the White King's castle. I took note of where the other forks led. One was to the White Rabbit's house and Alice's house. The White Chessland was quite spectacular and included many buidings besides the White King's castle. I walked up to the front entrance of the White King's castle and was led inside by a knight. The White King was in his library and seemed to be expecting me. I walked up to his table. The White King poked a daisy in my hair just above my left ear.

"Welcome home, Flowergirl."

The End

Chapter 16: Chapter 16  
Chapter 16: Author's Notes

This story was begun purely as a lark at a time when it looked like Hillary Clinton would be handed the Democratic nomination for President without a serious challenge in the primaries. When this story was finished, it looked like Bernie Sanders might actually give Hillary Clinton some competition. So if Clinton isn't the nominee in November 2016, then I will gratefully eat crow by leaving this story up.

President Chris Rock's inaugural speech in the story was an homage to and a reprise of a scene in his 2003 movie "Head of State." His satirical portrayal of the corrupt two-party system in the United States was uncanny for its accuracy.

Now that the story is over, let's imagine that it was a movie. Here's the music for the closing credits to give you a 1970s mood.

"San Francisco" by Scott McKenzie

"I Love the Flower Girl" by The Cowsills


End file.
